i’m not sure which old door it is, which doorway it graced. it was white when we carried it up from the basement storage room and placed it outside in the garden, over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window. that this door began to peel back, revealing its rich green history, seems a meditation.
this very day – july 29 – has been a day of days through the years. the history peels back in my heart as i remember, back and back. i stand on the deck this morning, gazing at the old door that frames the beginnings of a rock garden, and nod to myself – in deference to the opening and closing of chapters.
the book of my story with this old house began on this day thirty-six years ago as we moved in, a hot midwest summer day filled with a u-haul and boxes and many hands of people helping. it has – as all stories – taken many turns, followed a windy – and sometimes broken – road, running parallel with the rest of life in all its iterations, all its paths and branches. but as i stand on the deck, admiring the door that is vulnerable to the weather and the sun, i know how far i, too, have come, how exposed my heart – to life.
it is no wonder i feel a certain attachment to old doors and windows. it is no wonder i am fond of peeling paint and the not-quite-perfect. it is no wonder i feel an affinity to this door in the garden over by the ferns, under the big pine, leaning against the old garage by the window.
there is so much more to yet reveal. layers back, layers forward. i can only hope be as beautiful as this old door.
i don’t know how much i noticed the rock garden next to the chalet shed in the backyard of my growing-up house. i know it was there. there were plants peeking out from in-between the rocks and the garden-pile grew through the years as my momma – with a love of rocks and stone – added to it.
the cairns and vessel-collections in our house echo that garden and its solid base for my own love of rocks and stone and pebbles. though i believe i will remember where each individual rock originates, where i picked it up, what it means to me or what moment it represents, reality is that i forget. with a few exceptions, i simply know that they are important. they were part of something i wanted to hold onto. and they became part of the rock garden of my life. they all count.
the rockway of the shoin house of the chicago botanic garden is deliberate. carefully placed stones, “bones of the earth” form a pathway through the fragile mosses of deep green. we stood, gazing down, both of us – i’m pretty sure – lost in thought about how we could incorporate such a walkway in our own backyard. orderly and stunning and functional, protecting all around it.
we spent a couple hours in the basement last night. i heard them from a distance first; the tornado sirens were going off. then, closer. i am storm-nervous. the derecho back a decade has gifted me with long-term storm ptsd and i’m not sure if there is much i can do to alleviate it. so when the weather forecast offers “tornado watch” i get ready.
we created a go-bag during the riots in our city a couple years back. it was recommended. i also keep an empty backpack nearby for computers and cords. there’s a leash in the go-bag and we have a duffel with a few clothes. i didn’t unpack all this after those devastating riots. instead, we realized the wisdom of having important stuff nearby, things you can grab in an emergency. and so, i had this all lined up – like a good rockwalk – on the couch in the sitting room off our bedroom, waiting. d picked up the dog (who doesn’t do steps for some strange aussie reason) and i grabbed the bags and water and some dog treats.
when you think about tornadoes as you sit in the basement listening, you realize that you can only create so much order…you can only try to design a walkway…you can only make plans. sitting in two rocking chairs in d’s studio, surrounded by the bins i am emptying and clearing down there, a couple dehumidifiers turned off so we could hear, with our backpacks and duffel bag, it all comes down to, well, not much. chaos happens and we find ourselves in it, stepping, trying to find our way on the rockwalk, to the other side, the next sunrise.
we waited for the sirens to stop and for the weather app to show that the worst of it had passed over us. david carried dogga back up and he got another sleepynightnight cookie. the bags went back on the couch, lined up, things to put away in the morning.
i wanted pancakes but it was too late and we were too tired.
reverse threading 